Cain's Blood by Geoffrey Girard

Author:Geoffrey Girard
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Touchstone

ROAD TRIP

JUNE 08, WEDNESDAY—ROUTE 50, IN

The car held five comfortably.

Al did most of the driving, said it was relaxing. This, coming from a guy who’d tried jamming a couple needles into his gouche to see what it felt like. (Like his original had. It was ALL in his new book.) Ted always rode shotgun: Liked to hog the radio, could never settle on a song for too long, and followed their journey on the map with each town they passed. “Butlerville,” he’d announce with some secret satisfaction only he understood. “Vernon is next.” Henry sat in the back with Jeff and John. They kept the nurse tied in the trunk.

The car’s AC was cranked and the windows down unless they were hot-boxing. (They’d gotten a bunch of pot from that Emily girl.) The new Avenged Sevenfold CD was in the player. The floorboards were covered with candy wrappers, crumpled Taco Bell bags, a couple of empty beer cans. (All bought with money they’d taken from her mom.) Henry smiled in memory. Emily had thought she’d be joining them after serving up her sister and mom like that. (And she had, for a whole day almost.) Because this girl thought she was the shit, someone important now. Like them. (And the stupid hole was wrong on every count.) He’d kept asking Ted all day if he could kill her. Eventually, Ted had let him help.

Indiana rushed by. No particular destination anymore. There was this one kid about an hour away and another near St. Louis who they were supposed to free. And it wasn’t nothing to stop, he figured. More stuff to see. More fun to have. But everyone else wanted to get west now. California. Everyone in a fucking hurry. See the Pacific. Buy more pot. Maybe find one of those porn stars to party with.

Or even, Henry thought, looking down at his new book, try and visit some old stomping grounds in Texas. The home of the original Henry. The same places he’d once lived and killed.

Maybe Ted and the others were right. Maybe they’d done enough. Counting the ones Jacobson had helped with, they’d already sent half a dozen clones scattering into the four winds. Though Henry figured most hadn’t gotten very far. A couple of the kids looked weak as shit, just didn’t have it. Not that he saw. Hell, they’d killed that one kid themselves: Ricky Howell, the “Night Stalker” clone. Total fucking pussy. Some seemed down, though. Like John, the guy they’d picked up in Maryland with Jacobson. Pulled together the goofy clown suit like his predecessor had made so infamous. Funny. Version 2.0 had only killed four. So far . . . Yeah, he was happy they’d taken John along. Kind of nice knowing there were others out there. Like us. He thought about the Albert kid, one of the first they’d visited. Jacobson talked to the boy while they’d raped and murdered his mom in the next room. He and Ted did. Fucked up.

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